Secure
by AGirloftheSouth
Summary: A night in bed. It's hard to summarize when there is no plot.  PWP! Rated M, very very M.


Warnings – This story has no plot, very mild, completely consensual s/m between two men, lots and lots of dirty bits, and is for adults only. You've been warned.

A/N – Blame ScopesMonkey for this entire thing, unless something is spelled wrong. That's on me. :)

Disclaimer – Don't own, don't profit.

Secure

Sherlock felt weight on the bed and a moment later John's voice was in his ear.

"Relax, Sherlock." Sherlock focussed on his muscles and tried to force them to release their tension, but they wouldn't. John placed a soft kiss against his temple. "Safe word?"

"_Staphylococcus_," Sherlock said and John groaned, but nodded. He'd once told Sherlock he picked the oddest words. Sherlock did not understand that - he picked words associated with whatever he was currently working on to ensure he was more likely to remember them if they were needed. Not that he ever thought they would be - John was alarmingly careful.

And yet still he was nervous. Maybe because he was, for the first time, tied on his stomach. It would be more difficult to see, more difficult to anticipate. He wouldn't be able to watch John. Seeing John always provided him with a certain feeling of comfort and safety.

"Ready?" John asked and Sherlock thought for a moment before nodding. He knew that if he asked John would let him turn over or untie him altogether. He knew that all he had to do was say his safe word and John would stop without hesitation. There was absolutely no reason to be nervous. John would never, ever hurt him – not maliciously anyway.

"Yes," Sherlock said, pulling quickly at the ties holding his hands to the corners of the headboard and his feet tied to the corner railings at the foot of the bed. He was secure but not restricted and could free his hands if he wanted. John always made sure he could get out. He twisted his wrists and grabbed the ties. He placed his left cheek into the pillow and closed his eyes. He was as ready as he'd ever be.

John straddled him; Sherlock felt a knee on either side of his hips. John rested his hands on Sherlock's outstretched arms, leaning down. Sherlock felt the puff of an exhalation just before an open mouthed kiss was placed on the nape of his neck. John's tongue darted out to taste and Sherlock savoured the feeling of warmth that spiralled down his spine. John dragged the kiss a fraction lower then lower again. The touch was soft and exciting and Sherlock let out a quiet satisfied hum.

John pulled back and the weight shifted on the bed. Sherlock knew that he was reaching towards the floor - it was where he'd stashed the basket containing his supplies. Sherlock smiled. John was a big fan of jams, and chocolate or caramel syrup. Sherlock always enjoyed having them licked off of him.

The weight evened out and John moved backwards, settling between Sherlock's spread thighs. The detective allowed himself to anticipate the cool or hot stickiness that John would apply to his back, but instead he heard a shaking and felt tiny grains start to bounce off his skin. He opened his eyes and John's hand came up immediately to cover them.

"Hang on a bit, don't want any in your eye." Sherlock closed them again until the shaking stopped then opened them and peaked up at John. As he watched, John licked a finger and traced it over Sherlock's shoulder and up to rest against his lips. The detective darted his tongue out to taste.

"Salt," he said, surprised, having no idea what John was going to do with salt.

"Yes," John said, pulling his finger back. Sherlock didn't miss the slightly deepened tone of John's arousal. The shaker was set aside and John shifted to grab something else. There was a clanking sound a split second before an ice cube was placed between Sherlock's shoulder blades.

Sherlock gasped, arching his shoulders to try and minimize the contact. The movement caused the ice cube to shift, slowly trailing down his spine. The salt melted the cube, leaving a freezing contrail in its wake. His hips pressed down, back arching as the cube settled at the base of this spine. He turned, burying his face into his pillow as he moaned. The ice sat there for several second before John picked it up.

There was a moment of relief before it was placed on the back of his neck. The freezing water started trailing along the side, moving along his Adam's apple, dripping onto the pillow. He held his breath, feeling the cube melt away into nothing, then exhaled a gasp as the sensation faded away. John shifted and there was another clanking sound before a second cube was pressed between his shoulder blades. John held it there, the salt and body temperature melting it faster. Sherlock shuddered, pulling on the ties with his hands.

It was cold, freezing, and burned like fire. He groaned into the pillow, trying to turn his body, to move the point of contact. John didn't budge, not until the spot was numb from the cold. Then he dragged the ice to trace random patterns along Sherlock' back, the cube melting with every touch. When it was gone Sherlock sighed in relief and tried to shift his hips. His growing erection was awkwardly positioned and uncomfortable. John pushed a hand underneath his moving hips and Sherlock gasped as sensitive skin came in contact with cold fingers. "Oh," he said as the fingers closed around him, giving him a gentle pull before repositioning.

"Better?" John asked. Sherlock turned his head again so that he could mumble his thanks. He saw John shift above him and another tender kiss was placed to his temple. It was a loving John gesture, and completely out of sync with ice cube torture from minutes before.

John straightened again and Sherlock heard another clink. He turned his head back into the pillow and bit down. It didn't prevent the whimper from escaping him as John traced the ice cube over one ass cheek then the other. His muscles tensed, rubbing his erection against the mattress. He whimpered again as the ice cube sat at the top of his crease, dripping down his back and between his cheeks.

"John," he groaned, knowing that the word would be lost in that pillow but that John would understand.

"Yes?" the doctor asked, pushing the cube lower, parting Sherlock's cheeks with it.

"GOD!" Sherlock cried out, pulling on his leg restraints, trying to open further and tighten to prevent the contact at the same time. He pushed down, his balls getting painfully pinned for a split second before his movement freed them. His heart was suddenly pounding in his chest, vibrating through his body. He realised in a flash of panic that he was holding his breath. He released it a gasp and sucked it in as the corner of the cube pressed against his opening.

"John!" he cried out, lifting his head to gulp in another lungful of air. John held the cube still and the freezing burn returned, the cold water dripping down across his balls. He ached for more of the sensation and wanted desperately for it to stop. He planted his cheek into the pillow just as John pushed the melting cube inside of him. Sherlock tried to whimper, he tried to scream, but his voice caught. His mouth was open with nothing coming out as he tensed against all four ties. His body clamped down on the ice cube, freezing water moving deeper inside and dripping out.

He felt both of John's hands on his hips and the melting cube shifted inside of him. "That was the last one," he heard next to his ear as John's hands began to move upwards. "Breathe, Sherlock," he said and Sherlock sucked in a breath, his lungs desperate.

"Oh my god," he said before sucking in another breath. His eyes burned as the cube melted and the pain subsided. He sucked in several easier breaths in a row and his body relaxed some. It had been excruciating. It had been exhilarating. He could feel a wet spot forming under him that had nothing to do with the ice. With his legs tied he wasn't able to get proper purchase against the sheets. He could move, but not enough. He'd be completely reliant on John for release.

He felt a brush of softness along his arms and then the towel dropped on him. John's warm hands moved the fluffy cotton along his body, absorbing the moisture and brushing the salt away. When he was done, John tossed the towel to the floor and replaced it with his fingers.

Thumbs swirled in the soft spots behind Sherlock's knees and goose bumps trailed up his body. John grabbed something from the basket again and Sherlock saw a black tube in his hands.

"Okay?" John asked and Sherlock nodded, not knowing what was in it. John leaned forward again and planted a kiss right in front of Sherlock's ear. Sherlock closed his eyes, enjoying the soft lips against his skin. John sucked Sherlock's earlobe into his mouth and gave it a gentle tug, teeth barely pressing into the soft skin before sitting up again.

Sherlock heard the pop as the tube was opened and was immediately hit with the smell of grape seed. He felt the tube land on the bed next to him and heard John's hands rubbing together. He smiled, realising he was going to get a massage. John often did this for him after particularly physical cases, but just because was a very rare treat.

John set a hand on either ankle and dug his thumbs into the tender area surrounding the Achilles. Sherlock enjoyed the sensation, the perfect symmetry of the movements, until John stopped the massaging his left foot so that he could adjust the restraint.

The warming sensation sank in as John's started to work on Sherlock's right calf. As his skin began to warm, Sherlock noted the increase in blood flow and enjoyed the muscles relaxing into John's touch. After several moments the sensation became uncomfortable, surging to hot. Sherlock lifted his head and John offered him a sly smile as he moved up to the thigh.

"What?" he asked, the heat painful for a few seconds before it tapered off. John shrugged.

"Heated relaxation oil," he answered continuing to work on the thigh. "Is it okay?"

"Mmmm," Sherlock answered, burying his face in his pillows as a flash of heat moved up the back of his thigh. The muscles up his leg tightened as the wave swept over him, and John stopped touching him, waiting for the sensation to pass. When Sherlock's muscles relaxed John turned his attention to the other leg, fingers moving slowly moving, bringing with them a trail of fire. Sherlock cringed, pulling on his arm restraints, as each new patch of skin came into contact with the oil.

He felt John pull his hands away and then felt the small tube being picked up again. A moment later, a trail of warm liquid was drizzled along his back. The tube was dropped again and John slapped a palm against either of his ass cheeks.

Sherlock jumped at the shock of the contact. John, even when dominate, had never used any actual force before. He shrank from the contact as smooth surgeons hands spread the oil, tracing gently long the edges of Sherlock's crease but never dipping in. Sherlock prepared himself for the wave of heat, and just before his muscles tightened at the sensation, John pushed two fingers easily into him.

He clamped down on the fingers as the flash of fire moved across him, crying out at the surprise of the penetration and the glorious feeling of being invaded by John. The fingers felt huge inside of him as the sensation peaked then subsided. He gasped, releasing his body back into the mattress, only to moan a second later as his cock throbbed, leaking more liquid onto his abdomen and the sheet.

"Very nice," John whispered as he eased his fingers out of Sherlock. Sherlock nodded into the pillow as John's hands settled on his lower back. His hands moved up, thumbs pushing against the edge of Sherlock's spine. The doctor's fingers eased over his shoulders into his collar bone before dragging back down to rest Sherlock's hips as the surge of fire spread up his back. The restraints bit into his wrists as he tried to fold in away from the pain. He groaned, the sensation lasting longer as a larger section of skin had been exposed.

"Oh god," he mumbled as the pain finally eased off. Goose bumps sprang up across his back as the cool air of the room spread over his overheated skin. The conflict of the hot and the cold took his breath away. He gasped against the chill and exhaled sharply as John's chest settled on his back. John's hands encircled Sherlock's wrists, right at the bindings, and moved slowly down his arms, drawing more goose bumps.

John sat up and Sherlock heard the pop of the oil again. He heard John's hands rubbing together and a second later John's chest was pressed into his back again. "Good?" John whispered. Sherlock paused just a split second before nodding.

"Yes," he said, mostly in to the pillow, and the word was barely out of his mouth when John's hands pushed underneath him. Two palms saturated with oil pressed up into his nipples, moving in small circles against the nubs. "Ungh," he managed before gritting his teeth against the searing heat. Instead of easing his touch as Sherlock stiffened, John managed to close an index finger and thumb around either nipple and tugged. Sherlock cried out, the headboard pulling away from the wall as tried to make his body shrink.

"Shhh," he heard John say. The soothing comfort of his voice in direct contrast to the aching pain across his chest the doctor was causing. "It's almost over," John whispered and as if on cue the pain eased. Fingers worked on the hard nubs and Sherlock felt John's forehead rest against one of his shoulders.

"Do you have any idea what seeing you like this is doing to me?" The words bounced off his shoulder blade and he tried to focus on them. John started twisting his nipples in opposite directions and Sherlock's mind went blank as he moaned into the pillow.

"Uhnnn," Sherlock managed, no longer able to form words. "Please," he slurred, not certain that he was coherent.

John shifted and Sherlock felt the doctor's swollen cock come to rest between his cheeks. The contact surprised him, but also seemed to surprise John. The doctor moaned, burying his face against Sherlock's back before losing control of his hips. There were several awkward thrusts before John regained control.

"Jesus," the doctor said after he took a few stabilising breaths.

Sherlock nodded, unable to move past the sensation of John's cock pressed into his lower back. He wanted to touch it, to taste it. He wanted John to fuck him, now.

"Untie me," Sherlock said, regretting it immediately. His voice sounded weak, desperate. He shook his head - he _was_ weak and desperate. John's hands moved down, dragging over his ribs and across his abdomen. For a panicked second he thought John might drag the oil lower, might wrap the fiery feeling around his cock.

"I won't," John whispered as his hands moved outward settling on Sherlock's hips. Sherlock exhaled a shaky breath and tried to relax into the pillows. John placed another kiss into his back and then shifted grabbing something from the bedside table.

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder, seeing John wiping his hands. He tossed the wipe onto the floor then moved to his knees and planted his right hand into the pillow beside Sherlock's head. Sherlock tried to crane his neck to bet a better view but was unsuccessful. He wanted to see, he wanted to know.

"Tell me," he said as he pressed his head back onto the pillow.

"I'm leaking everywhere," John said. "And I haven't even been touched." Sherlock moaned, the image so clear in his mind, John's perfect cock soaked for him.

"Please," Sherlock said. He wanted to come, he wanted John to come. John reached and Sherlock saw the lube come out of the bedside table. He felt a wave of relief as John's slicked fingers started to part his cheeks.

"I love you like this, Sherlock. You're so beautiful." Sherlock noted the real affection in the words but his mind went blank as two fingers pushed into him. There was no slow preparation, no soft tenderness. The fingers started to scissor immediately, forcefully. Sherlock tried to lift his hips, tried to give John better access, but he had no room to shift or adjust. He groaned in frustration as the hand turned and the pads of two fingers pressed into his prostate. Sherlock jumped, ploughing into the mattress. It wasn't enough. He throbbed, giving as sob-like whine as more seed oozed out of him.

The fingers came out and John pressed against his entrance, pushing in with one quick motion, driving Sherlock into the mattress. His cock, aching for release, was dragged across the soft sheets and John buried his face in the nape of Sherlock's neck. They were still for a moment, calm, and then John hitched up and drove back down. Sherlock cried out as he brushed across the sheets again. The contact still too weak.

"I've never left you tied up before," John whispered as he settled into a steady pace. For a second, Sherlock tried to remember and then he gave up. He could neither confirm nor deny that. The sheet felt too good. The thrusts, John surrounding him, invading him. It all felt too good.

If he could brush against the sheet just a bit to the left, it would…

"Ahhhhh!" he screamed, his whole body beginning to shake as John shoved a hand underneath him. The doctor's slick hand expertly formed a loose grip. Sherlock's insides knotted and he heard the headboard bang against the wall, but was only vaguely aware that his convulsions were causing the noise. John swelled in inside him as his muscles clamped around the doctor. "Oh god," he mumbled as the fist started moving against him.

It was too much, it was all too much. "Joooooooooooohn!" he yelled as he exploded in his husband's grip. He felt the heat all over his stomach, all over the sheet, all over John's still moving fingers. John pulled and pulled, drawing a finger over the head, and Sherlock grunted as another stream shot out of him.

Sherlock groaned and all of his muscles released at once and he sank into the mattress. The bed still moved as the force of John's thrusts increased.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Sherlock heard above him as John grabbed his shoulder for better leverage.

With a roar, John thrust forward and filled Sherlock. The doctor moaned, pulling out and thrusting again, his body trying to fold in on itself. He stilled before whimpering as he collapsed against Sherlock's back, his cheek resting comfortably between sweat coated shoulder blades.

They lay there for several satiated minutes before a hand trailed up Sherlock's arm. With one pull, a wrist was released, and with another quick pull, the other one was free. John groaned as he sat up and untied Sherlock's ankles, gently rubbing a hand over each one making sure there was no lasting damage. Sherlock knew there wouldn't be, he wouldn't even have a bruise. That was John's way.

Sherlock rolled over and opened his arms. John was still flushed but his breathing was even and his pulse seemed normal. He was happy and satisfied, Sherlock's favourite way to see him.

The doctor lay down, resting his head on a bony, yet surprisingly comfortable shoulder. A soft kiss was placed against blonde hair as a mix of hands secured them underneath a blanket.


End file.
